


Kizu

by Findarato



Category: Katsugeki! Touken Ranbu, 刀剣乱舞 | Touken Ranbu
Genre: M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 23:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13154793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findarato/pseuds/Findarato
Summary: "He is not going to admit it. It’s not his fault they were sent to quell the enemy in a time period he’s never been to, or he lost his notes; plus they were separated from the rest of their unit in some stupid forest, and it’s raining and he has an injury."Izuminokami, Mutsunokami, some rain, and an abandoned mine.





	Kizu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/gifts).



> I was very inspired by one of your Katsugeki prompts: _Something where one of them is hurt in battle and they can’t get help, and the other one’s stuck nursing them back to health._  
>  This is mixture of Katsugeki, game/manga/other adaptation influences, with Katsugeki being the main factor.
> 
> Happy Holidays, and I hope you enjoy this treat :)

 

 

_**-Kizu-** _

“We’re lost.”

“I said we’re not.”

“Just admit it, Izuminokami. You didn’t know Japan as well as ya thought.”

“Shut up.” He is not going to admit it. It’s not his fault they were sent to quell the enemy in a time period he’s never been to, or he lost his notes; plus they were separated from the rest of their unit in some stupid forest, and it’s raining and he has an injury. The last one being secret; it’s in his side and he’s cinched his obi higher and tighter against the pain, and the blood is still seeping but at least there’s no steady bleeding.

It’s also his luck that he is stuck with on Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki. Of course. He’s got to be on top of everything.

“Hey, I think we passed that boulder three times already.”

Kanesada grinds his teeth as he steps into another squishy mudhole. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to listen when the captain tells you something?”

Mutsunokami squints his eyes in an exaggerated manner, putting his hand up to them? “What’s that? Is there a unit here? No? Just two swords? Think that means I don’t have to shut up!”

“I don’t need you telling me where to go!”

“I’m not telling you where to go, I’m just tellin’ you to admit that you’re lost, and it’s no use getting anywhere in this rain.”

That’s hardly an improvement of the situation. He glares through his bangs, but just makes water drip into his eyes. “It’s your fault, you know.”

“Was not! Though…” Mutsunokami scratches the side of his nose. “Okay, I did bump you, and maybe I could’ve avoided that tree branch—”

“Are you forgetting that we fell off a cliff?” Not a very high one, and they had plunged into water, but on the way down, in a desperate scrabbling, he had scraped his arm and something had dug hard into his side. His haori is thankfully not tattered. “Because I tripped on you?”

He gets a shrug in response. “Not my fault if it started raining. I tried to stop us…but gravity’s a thing. Be glad I got us out of the water.”

“You did.” And quickly enough, before his clothes dragged him down too far. Sometimes, sword attire wasn’t very practical.

“That’s the second time.”

“Second time? When was the firs—” Ah. Wait. He remembers. That failed mission, when they nearly lost Tonbokiri. “I’m not trying make it a habit.”

“You better not. You’re really unwieldy.”

“Yeah? You’re even more unwieldy.”

“Says the guy wearing four layers.”

“Says the guy wearing only two.”

“I’m not unwieldy,” Kanesada says, for lack of a better argument. He’s too tired to think straight, much less walk. “And thanks.”

Mercifully, Mutsunokami doesn’t gloat about this. “You’re welcome.”

 _He grabbed me by the hand, didn’t he._ Memories of that exact moment weren’t clear; it had been an instant of lights, sounds, pain, and then darkness. Swimming isn’t really a forte of his. There had been the sensation, or maybe sight, or something touching him. And then they were brought back.

Today, this is nothing compared to that. The number of enemies had been slightly worrisome, but something they could’ve handled. Perhaps it had been a bad decision that they had split the group in search of a man whose name Kanesada couldn’t even remember right now. Konnosuke had warned for rain, but he didn’t think it would hinder like this. Everything had been fine and manageable up to the point he and Mutsunokami fall. Really.

And now, he’s _cold_. His hands are numb and the pain in his side surges with every step of his foot. His hair hangs like a soaked curtain, offering no protection, bangs limp and obscuring his vision. Somehow, this makes him more frustrated.

“Hey, Izuminokami.”

“What.” Gods so help him, if Mutsunokami makes one more comment about being lost—

“Up ahead. Look.”

He looks, and not too far off, there’s a collapsed entrance way, overgrown by wildlife. “You know what it is?”

“Probably an abandoned mine of sorts.”

“A mine?”

“Salt, gold, limestone…could be anything. It’s probably not haunted,” Mutsunokami adds this last part on. “But that shouldn’t really bother us, should it?”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Haunted or not, he’d stay. There’s two of them to deal with whatever trouble wants to get in their faces. “But what about it?”

“It’s getting late, it’s still raining…I don't think the others are gonna be able to find us like this.”

“Spending the night here means no progress in anything.”

“Walking in circles is already no progress.”

“How are we walking in circles if this the first time we’ve seen that mine?”

“I saw it earlier, actually.”

Dammit.

Kanesada clenches his hand tighter against his wound. “Fine. Tomorrow.” Maybe it’s not exactly the actions of leader when he basically stomps his way to the mine, boots squelching and flinging mud, but he’s had enough for today. The inside of the mine is mercifully dry, with the sound of water flowing somewhere unseen. After banging his fist on the side and shouting a few times to make sure there weren’t wild animals, he lets himself sit down, Mutsunokami choosing the opposite side.

Hopefully Kunihiro isn’t too worried. Kanesada shakes out his hair, squeezing out the water the best he can. But of course Kunihiro would worry; he might even do something reckless like sneaking out at night to look for Kanesada.

“Any food on you?” Mutsu asks him, shaking himself first before plopping down.

“Do I look like Konnosuke?”

“I don’t know, maybe you’re hiding some ears and a tail underneath all that…”

“Ha, ha.” The sound is grating; he thuds the back of his head against the rough wall. “Very funny.”

Mutsunokami, also in the processing of wringing himself dry, grins in the way only he can—open-mouthed and wide.

He’s never disliked that smile. If he’s had to admit it.

But he’s Kanesada, and there’s not many things he admits. So instead he goes back to his hair, fighting it like the pain it was sometimes. He’s thought about what it would be like if it were like Horikawa’s, and while he’s not against the idea, there’s been many days when he looks at his reflection and remembers the length of Hijikata’s hair, so dark it was almost blue. His own hair, even when wet, had that same shade.

The line where masters ended and swords started was often a very thin one indeed.

“Hey.”

He looks up; Mutsunokami has divested himself of his top layers, save for the bandages across his abdomen.

“Want any help with that?”

“No thanks.” Only Horikawa gets to do anything to his hair.

“I don’t mean that. I mean those cuts.”

“My arm? It’s just a long scratch.”

“Oh yeah? What about the one in your side? The one you’ve been hiding.”

“Also just a scratch,” he replies, shifting his leg to obstruct the view. “It’s fine.”

“Your face doesn’t look fine.”

“It will be fine. I just need some sleep.” And no more of your voice. Or any voice. What he would do to be in a proper bed and not wet.

“Damn. Are you allergic to help or something, Izuminokami?”

“Maybe I am just to yours.” What could even be done? He has no bandages, and he’s loath to rip his clothes. The bleeding’s finally all stopped, the ache lessening. “I don’t need your help.”

“Really, not even if I have these?” More bandages. How even did Mutsunokami have them? And they looked dry, even.

…well then. He’s beat and he knows it. But he doesn’t have to like it.

“Give them to me.”

“Nah.”

He feels a muscle underneath his eye twitch. “I don’t have time for this.”

Mutsunokami tosses the roll between his hands, still unperturbed. “You’re just gonna make a mess.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because it’s stupid to argue about this. It’s just some bandages, and I know what I’m doing.” Mutsunokami suddenly leans forward. “Look, I won’t tell anyone we fell off a cliff or that I helped, if it bothers you so much.”

Well, he’d already been planning to leave the cliff out his report and replace it with ‘battle-induced injuries.’  But knowing Mutsunokami, he’d without a second thought cheerfully recount the cliff and how he fished Kanesada out again…

“I hate it when you’re right,” he finally says. “Fine. Hurry up.”

The other scoots towards him. “Don’t worry, it’ll be quick. But you have to take all that off.”

“…pretty sure there’s nicer ways of asking.” And more interesting ways, his mind supplies. He ignores this, peeling the haori off him.

“Or I could take it off you—”

“No.” Kimono, check. Juban, check. There’s just the leather undershirt, which he struggles with for a moment until he finally wrests it off and checks his hair free. “There.”

“Perfect.”

Oddly, Mutsunokami doesn’t talk as he wraps the bandages, beginning with Kanesada’s arm.  No commentary, no jibes, just a concentrated gaze and a practised hand. The other thing that surprises him is how light his touch is. All swords are familiar with first aid, some better at it than others. There’s definitely no clumsiness here, and he finds himself relaxing before he catches himself.

“You’re good at this.”

“I do it every day.” His arm is lowered. “I’ve done it half asleep, too!”

“What are they for?”

Mutsunokami pauses, for a split second. “Scars,” he replies simply, and continues on.

“Must be quite the scar if you have to hide it.”

“Yeah, well.” A slight edge has crept into his voice. “I don’t like flashing it around. And I’m done.”

It feels snug, and maybe it’s psychological, but having something in place against a wound seems to immediately improve things. He touches it, about to say something, but Mutsunokami’s already moved back across their shared space, lying down on his side.

“Don’t pull it too much,” the other says as he turns over. “Good night.”

“…good night.” Something is bothering him, but he can’t put his finger on it. Right now, he’s too drained to think too deeply on anything.

 

**.**

He finally remembers, in the early hours when he accidentally rolls onto his arm and side and the pain slicing his nerves made him jolt out of a dream. Facts oddly had a way of blurring into imagination, the latter sometimes enhancing the former. Memories seeped in, and he suddenly blurts out what comes to mind.

“You got those that night when he died.”

_What the hell, Izuminokami. He’s probably asleep._

A low snort is his answer. “Took you long enough.”

“I don’t know everything about you or about Sakamoto. Not even after protecting him.”

“You know, all you had to do was ask Konnosuke. Or open any history book.”

This is probably worst time to argue, but his head and neck feel like the muscles there have been replaced with rocks. “Why hide it?”

“I said I don’t like flashing it.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

“That’s depends on why you want to know.”

 _I’m the captain, I should know these things,_ is on the tip of his tongue, but it doesn’t apply here. Kanesada finally sits up, arm braced against the wall. “Are you hiding it because you’re ashamed?”

“No.” Sounds of fabric rustling tells him that Mutsunokami has also sat up.

“Uncomfortable?”

“No. You’re bad at guessing.”

“I don’t have any,” he interjects. “So I wouldn’t know. All I know is that…it means that it left a mark on you. It’s inerasable.”

“It’s not some badge of honour, if that’s what you mean.”

There seems to be more to be explained, so he waits.

“It’d be different if he’d unsheathed me, but he didn’t even do that. He used me to block, but because it was dark and impossible to see, he got stabbed.” There’s a dry swallowing sound, like the very words were sand or mud. “He stayed true to the kind of man he was. But me? As a sword? I couldn’t protect him.”

Swords, made to be used. Swords, sharp and ready. Swords, to deflect, defend, counter, kill…

Swords, passed through history, with the weight of their smiths and masters lying on them. Sword, dreaming of the past, and forced to confront the choice of preserving history or changing it.

“I don’t have regrets about how he used me. Ryouma, he’s one of kind. There’s nothing about him I’d change or think about changing.”

“And his death?”

“I wish he kept me closer.”

It’s his turn to swallow. There’s really nothing he could say, for swords don’t pity, and they all had some area in their hearts that remained a little tender.

“I don’t hide it because I’m ashamed, or uncomfortable. Scars’re scars. You have ’em too, just not physically.” The words rush out, filling the silence between them. “It’s more that I use bandages because every time I do, I remember him. I remember how he died. And I remember why I’m here and fighting. Does that make sense?”

“That’s a pretty sentimental reason, huh.” His words don’t hold any mockery. Look, this guy already saw him cry once, so he’s just making it even.

Another snort. “Shut up.” A pebble is flicked in his direction, plinking against his knee. It doesn’t even sting. “I know you understand. You wear that haori, don’t you?”

He does.

“That’s all there is to it.”

“I didn’t mean to…” Kanesada pauses. “To pry.”

“It doesn’t hurt to talk about him. I just didn’t like that you said I had something to hide.”

“You really don’t like it when anyone has anything to die.”

“What’s the point? Isn’t it better to talk and sort things out? We don’t have to carry everything ourselves.”

“I don’t share.”

“Not even with Horikawa?”

“That’s different. He’s…we’re…” he tugs on the end of his hair. “Partners.” And there was still a lot they had to work out.

“What’s it mean to you?”

“Being partners? That he’s got my back, and I have his. Dependence.”

“So you do share with him.”

“Yes, but—” Argh. “Why are we talking about me? This was about you!”

Mutsunokami’s laughter is not soft. “If we’re gonna to talk about me, it’s only fair that ya got your chance too!”

“Tch.” Teeth slightly grinding, Kanesada pushes away from the wall, tired of talking into the dark. “I hate that I lose all these arguments.”

“Thanks, I got it from Ryouma.”

“And I got this from Hijikata-san—” He lunges forward, hands aim in the direction of the voice, but all he meets is air. Instead, he’s grabbed from behind and pulled so that he falls.

“Hey, what—” Kanesada jabs an elbow backwards, all nerves and alertness.

“Stop trying to make yourself bleed and waste all my work.” Mutsunokami’s breath puffs out next to his ear; he has to hold back the urge to squirm. “You definitely got that stubbornness from Hijikata.”

“I prefer assertive.” There’s a scent of gunpowder and metal; a mixture of acrid and sharp.

“Assertive, over me?”

Ugh. “Get off me.”

“Okay, okay.” He’s released, and he feels a shoulder nudged against his. “Happy?”

“No. I’m stuck here with you.”

“We had a moment, you mean.”

“Excuse me, if I wanted a heart-to-heart with anyone, they’d need an appointment.” Free for ten minutes after Saturday, with a payment of sake (that he will hide from Horikawa).

“Izuminokami.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” And then Mutsunokami kisses him.

He’s too taken aback to do much, his shoulders slacking until his mind catches up. Upon which, he pushes himself away, gasping.

“ _What_ ,” he hisses, a serious of emotions sprinting through his thoughts. "What was _that?"_

 _“Aw,_ I thought you’d know? Didn't Hijikata-san—”

“No, I mean why.” Of course he knows what kisses are. That's not the problem here.

“Because why not?”

“I can think of a lot of reasons. One, you haven’t brushed your teeth. Two, your lips are absolutely dry. Three—” he yanks a fistful of fabric. “You stole that.”

Kanesada tilts his head sharply, his lips bumping painfully into Mutsunokami’s chin before he finds his mouth. There’s the taste of blood; both of them have cracked lips, unfortunately.

“How does that feel,” he breathes out, after pulling back. “Because that’s exactly how you did it.”

He can practically see Mutsunokami laughing. “Is that supposed to bother me? ’Cause, it felt great.”

“Better than yours.”

“Nope.”

“Really? Because I might have more knowledge here.”

“Ryouma was _married_.”

…Mutsu: 5, Kanesada: -1. “Stop talking. I like it better when you don’t talk.”

“Funny, I’d say the same of you.”

Someday, he’ll out-argue this damn sword. Right now, he finds it easier to bury his fingers in unruly, messy hair and just kiss. Knowledge is nothing compared to experience. Knowledge cannot tell him that Mutsunokami good at this sort of thing.

Damn him if he didn’t think about this at least once or twice (and maybe more). If this is going to happen, it as well be now. And if it’s going with Mutsunokami, well.

It can be repayment for the bandages. Sort of.

 

 

 

**-end-**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. There are conflicting accounts of the night Ryouma was assassinated, so I’ve tried to keep it ambiguous. However I do know for sure that Mutsu’s got a scar, from his official illustrations. 
> 
> 2\. Hijikata Toshizou, historically known for good looks and charismatic personality, had...quite the record with women. Suffice to say I assume Kanesada knows about this, heh.


End file.
